Stone looked up, and seeing somebody who seemed to be his elder
daughter, answered "Yes, my dear?"
"Are you sure you're feeling quite the thing? Thyme said she thought
seeing that poor baby had upset you."
Mr. Stone felt his body with his hand.
"I am not conscious of any pain," he said.
"Then you'll stay to dinner, dear, won't you?"
Mr. Stone's brow contracted as though he were trying to recall his past.
"I have had no tea," he said. Then, with a sudden, anxious look at his
daughter: "The little girl has not come to me. I miss her. Where is
she?"
The ache within Cecilia became more poignant.
"It is now two days," said Mr. Stone, "and she has left her room in that
house--in that street."
Cecilia, at her wits' end, answered: "Do you really miss her, Father?"
"Yes," said Mr. Stone. "She is like--" His eyes wandered round the room
as though seeking something which would help him to express himself.
They fixed themselves on the far wall. Cecilia, following their gaze,
saw a little solitary patch of sunlight dancing and trembling there. It
had escaped the screen of trees and houses, and, creeping through some
chink, had quivered in. "She is like that," said Mr. Stone, pointing
with his finger. "It is gone!" His finger dropped; he uttered a deep
sigh.
'How dreadful this is!' Cecilia thought.
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